My sister Ashley and I chatted for a few minutes last night on facebook and I mentioned that I was taking Gabe to a speech evaluation this morning. As the conversation ensued, Ashley wrote that the speech therapist that Rae (her daughter) sees told Ashley that she had a couple of speech problems herself. I immediately cringed, because Ashley's itty bitty lisp is barely detectable - most people don't even know it is there, while I have always been acknowledged to own a lisp. I remember, in sixth grade, overhearing two of my friends using what they called their "Katie voice" with lots of attitude and slurring of s's and th's.
My lisp, like most others, becomes more pronounced when I am self-conscience of it. So all through Gabe's evaluation, it felt like my tongue was falling out of my mouth every time I said a word with a "S". I caught my eyes darting around the therapist's face, wondering if I could see exclamation points in her eyes as she thought, "Well, no wonder this kid can't talk right! Listen to his mother!"
The evaluator said nothing, but I will not be surprised if, when he is assigned a therapist that we see for treatment, my lisp is brought up. I'm honestly not too concerned - I came to grips with my lisp a long time ago. I mean, hello, I was an actor. I'm not afraid to use my voice.
I just had to chuckle to myself as I thought of this passage from Rilla of Ingleside, by L.M. Montgomery:
"Is this Rilla-my-Rilla?" he asked in a low tone.
"Yeth," said Rilla, and immediately wished she could throw herself headlong down the lighthouse rock or otherwise vanish from a jeering world.
Rilla had lisped in early childhood; but she had grown out of it. Only on occasions of stress and strain did the tendency re-assert itself. She hadn't lisped for a year; and now at this very moment, when she was so especially desirous of appearing grown up and sophisticated, she must go and lisp like a baby! It was too mortifying; she felt as if tears were going to come into her eyes; the next minute she would be–blubbering–yes, just blubbering–she wished Kenneth would go away–she wished he had never come. The party was spoiled. Everything had turned to dust and ashes.
My lisp-mortification isn't quite as romantic, is it?
By the way, if you have never read Rilla of Ingleside, one of my favorite childhood books (notice the title of my blog), I recommend it, especially if you are already an "Anne" fan. You can find it online here. I can't stand reading books online. Can you? Oh, and it isn't all as cheesy as the passage above.
